Highway from Hell
by swsbvbpatd
Summary: Harlem Hades's child, and everyone knows she's dangerous. And the gods are hot on her tail, because if she's anything like her father... she's not good for the human world. But when Harlems friend Ana reveals herself as a nymph sent to watch her from Camp HB, Harlem puts her faith in her, and she gives the place a chance. There, she finds the world of gods, and Kairos, son of Zeus.
Harlem felt bad for the girl.

She'd gone and angered her, and that was always a bad idea. Harlem Tackey was known for her anger, and the things she did to people that caused it. There were so many rumors of people hospitalized and broken that Harlem had lost count about how many existed. She didn't even care that almost every one of them was absurd and a lie, excluding the one about her issues being a side effect of her late mothers passing, nearly a year ago. Since then, she'd found herself living with a family that pretty much only kept her for the sake of the money they received for her care every month.

Harlem was messed up, and everyone seemed to know it.

"No wonder your mom got out," The girl, Casey Morison said, "Death's the only way to get away from the fact she had an kid like you."

The temperature around them seemed to drop, chilling as though it wasn't the middle of June, and more like it was the middle of winter and all the windows were open. Casey seemed to notice it, as well, as her eyes drifted all around them, searching for an air conditioner, or a really big fan. Neither of which were anywhere near either girl. Harlem knew what was happening, and it was why she pitied Casey Morison. Harlem let the rumors spread for a reason, they kept people afraid and away from her, and they kept people safe. Harlem wasn't like other girls, and she couldn't control what she did when she was angry.

Casey Morison was going to understand that.

"Funny you should mention death," Harlem muttered under her breath, just loud enough that Casey was the only one that heard it, despite all of the people that were surrounding them, waiting to see what Harlem could do in person. Harlem knew what she could do; she could disappear into shadows, turn the earth into black spikes that would launch at you from all directions. Harlem was dangerous, the real hell on earth.

"That a threat, Tacky Tackey?" She said, squinting, she made a face that was stern, trying to intimidate her opponent. It wasn't working- in fact, Harlem was doing everything in her power not to laugh at the face that Casey was making towards her. "Bite m-"

"Walk away, girls." Harlem's attention was directed from Casey to the vice principle as he spoke, and she frowned on the outside, but on the inside, she was grateful. The rooms temperature was still well below average, telling her that she was still fired up and ready to let lose a world of hurt, but she did her best to hold it back until she calmed down, which happened as Vice Principle Morgan led her down the hall towards his office. At this point, Harlem wouldn't be surprised if he'd heard all of the rumors, too, making her less than shocked that he'd blame her for the hallway incident-or, rather, _almost_ incident. After all, his choices were either three-time suspendee verses cheerleader and school representative, and Harlem was fairly certain it weighed towards her. "Harlem, I'm going to give your parents-"

"Mary and Finch." Harlem corrected. She couldn't even force the words _foster parents_ out of her mouth, it had to be their first names. Mary and Finch weren't worthy of any title with the word parent in it, and everyone in the tiny apartment complex on sixth street knew that from the yelling that happened every couple of hours- or minutes. Thankfully for her, or maybe them, it was almost never directed towards her- they were always screaming at each other. Half the time, they forgot they even had a seventeen year old kid living in their attack; and that was the point. Aside from mealtimes, which were 7am and 6pm sharp, Harlem was invisible. Harlem was a ghost.

"Right," He said, clearing his throat as he realized his mistake. Harlem thought maybe he felt a little guilty about calling them her parents, and maybe it'd earn her less time with suspension. Teachers almost always fell for the dead parents/orphan in foster care rouse- it was gold. He picked up the phone off his desk and handed it towards her, and she'd been in that position enough to know that she was being asked to dial their phone number and hand it back to him. Harlem did as I'd done a million times before, typing in the 10 digit number that would direct him to the old house phone that hung on the wall of the kitchen back home. She pictured Mary answering it and listening half-heartedly to what Vice Principle Morgan was saying, asking him to repeat words every now and then because Finch would say something to distract her.

Harlem pictured Mary hanging up after simply telling him to let me walk home, not allowing him to say otherwise. That's just what happened, and people never seemed to learn. Harlem was already slinging her backpack over her shoulders when he hung up the phone and let out a heavy sigh. She shrugged, "When am I back to school?"

"Next week," He said, rattling the words off of the top of his head, no doubt. "And Harlem? I don't do this because I like to, and I think you would benefit from keeping yourself out of trouble more often."

"Will do," Harlem said, giving him a mock salute before she left his office, walking into the newly emptied halls. Harlem looked at the clock on the wall, noticing that lunch had just ended, and everyone would have been back in their classes by now, some ready to learn, others ready to aim and let spitballs reek havoc. Her feet clicked against the floors as she walked, every step seeming to echo against the lockers and closed doors as she neared the doors at the end of the hall. through the glass, she could see sunlight, and as she stepped out into it, it bathed her skin in a blanket of warm, almost immediately; a refreshing feeling against the sudden cold she'd been graced with inside.

She shoved her hands into her pocket and made her way down the stairs and towards the street, almost not noticing as someone called her name out behind her, "Harlem! Harlem, wait up!"

Her feet froze, and she spun on her heels to see who was running out the door and down the sidewalk after her. Ana ran with a jump in her step, her backpack swinging around on her shoulders as she neared Harlem. She was awkward and stumbled, but that was just Ana, clumsy as ever. If you didn't know she was a twelfth grader, you could easily mistake Ana for someone half her age, with her big, black rimmed glassed and short figure, the only thing that stood out about her was the fiery red hair that looked like flames itself when it blew behind her in the wind, much like now as she ran. She stopped in front of her, short of breath, and Harlem gave her a small smile, "What are you doing? Don't you have math class?"

"Yeah," She said, shrugging. Ana stood up straight, "Math's boring, though, I'd rather go with you."

Harlem snorted, "I guess I can't argue."

"So," Ana said, holding the 'o'. "Heard you and Casey Morison were going at it at lunch. I heard from Thommy that it was a full blown chick fight."

Harlem rolled her eyes, leave it to high school to spread incorrect rumors so quickly, "Lie, but she did try to pick a fight. She better be counting her lucky stars that Morgan showed up when he did."

"I second that," Ana said, laughing, "How you feeling?"

"Fine?" She said, "Why?"

"Just wondering," Ana said. "We heading back to yours, then?"

"That's the plan," Harlem said, sighing heavily. She could see Mary sitting in front of the T.V, not noticing Harlem walking inside, even though she knew she was coming. And then later that night she would suddenly remember, and she'd hike up to the attic just to make sure she was there, and without a word, when she saw Harlem sitting in her bed, blinking back at her, she'd leave again. Harlem sighed again, "Back to Satan one and Satan two."

Ana choked on a breath, growing silent afterwards. Harlem couldn't detect why, maybe she thought calling them Satans was too harsh? But really, Harlem wouldn't be surprised if they each grew their own dollar store set of horns and a pointed red tail.

After a few minutes without a word said, during which Harlem watched them walk passed people in suits and professional dresses, rushing towards buildings and restaurants, because everyone in New York was always dressed up and ready to work. If anything, she and Ana were the only two people on the street who looked anything other than ready to meet the president, with her dark hair tied up with strands lose, and her jeans ripped unintentionally. Ana cleared her throat as they neared the turn off to get to the alley beside the apartment, ducking into it and speed walking to the other end. It was small, dark space between the apartment building and the laundromat next door, but Ana and Harlem had both never been fans of spending too much time there. It was covered in liter, and every now and then there'd be a stray cat that would knock something onto the ground. It was terrifying, so until they emerged back into the light on the other side, Harlem held her breath.

"Can I come up with you?" Ana said when they stepped inside, the scent that lingered filling Harlems nostrils. They could never pinpoint the exact smell that it was the was always near the door, but it was disgusting in every meaning of the word, and it never disappeared.

Harlem nodded, "Don't see why not."

"Cool," Ana said, taking a step forward, she stopped just after, her feet seeming to freeze in place. Harlem frowned at her, tapping her shoulder, but Ana didn't so much as look at her.

"Ana?" Harlem said, moving in front of her. Ana's eyes were unfocused, her body frozen in place. Harlem began to feel a little bit frightened; she'd heard of strokes and seizures that started out like this... exactly like this. Harlem poked at Ana again, digging her finger harder into the small, frail figured girl who stood at least a foot shorter than her.

Ana jumped back to her senses, shaking her head as if it'd been numb, "Oh, sorry."

"What was that?" Harlem questioned, and Ana just waved her off.

"Nothing, nothing..." Ana said, clearing her throat, "How 'bout... how about you come over to my house tonight? Hm? We can have a sleepover, it'll be fun."

Harlem sighed, unsure how to turn her friend down without causing a problem between them. She wasn't feeling the sleepover thing, as she didn't look forward to spending the night talking about boys Ana had seen in her classes. Harlem just wanted to get home and be alone, the one thing she looked forward to every day. Ana looked pleading though, so Harlem tried to let her down easy, as Harlem had proven to be one of the girls only friends, "Not tonight, okay?"

"Oh, uh," She paused, "You sure? I can make brownies? Hmm?"

Harlem forced a smile, running a distressed hand through her hair, causing locks of brown to fall into her vision, "Not tonight."

Harlem may have been distressed from shutting Ana down, but Ana suddenly looked far worse off. After a moment of silence between them, Ana swallowed dryly, "Okay, well, um... I'll see you tomorrow then, okay? Oh, wait... No I won't, you won't be at school."

Harlem forced another smile, beginning to feel guilty. "Yeah, I'll call you though, okay?"

"Sure, sure," Ana said, starting out the door. As Ana left, Harlem stood in the doorway for a second before she was able to force herself upstairs, navigating the flights that separated her from the apartment on the third floor. Her prediction from earlier was proved right when she unlocked the door and let herself in, slipping off her shoes and passing Mary on her way up the stairs to the attic, almost soundlessly. She closed the door behind her, completely undetected. Around her, brown walls watched the flooring, and the boards creaked under her feet-or rather, one board. The board just in front of the doorway that didn't quite fit right, and looked to be a different wood than the rest.

Harlem didn't really live in an attic, she just called it that. With unpainted wood and no-renovated anything, it certainly resembled the depressing mood of one. It was just it's appearance that brought the name to mind for her, but in reality, there was another apartment and another family living just above her, though they were so quiet and calm she often forgot about them, too. It did seem ironic to her, though, that there was a couple living below her that screamed so often her ears hurt, and a couple and a kid above her that were silent as doves.

The room dropped a few degrees, causing a chill to creep up Harlems mind, and she smiled at her when she appeared.

Harlems mom died in a car crash nearly 6 years prior, when she was just an eleven year old child. Her mom and her had moved through almost every state on the east coast of the USA, as they were always moving around from city to city. When she was old enough to realize it, Harlem found out that they were on the run, from something or someone, she never learned what, but it chased them out of Florida and the Carolinas, all the way up to New York. Harlem had never really been sad about moving, though; if anything, she liked it. With every new city, she got to change her name, her identity. When she was six, she threw on a hat and put her hair up under it, pretending to be a boy names Xander for an entire month before they moved on. When she was 9, she pretended to be a girl from Texas named Sue, who had a killer southern accent. When her mom died, she was being herself, boring old Harlem Tackey.

The day always seemed to haunt her; she remembered being fed a breakfast at the diner, and driven off to school in the old Honda that her mother had owned for years. She watched it drive away, leaving her outside her class with all of the other sixth graders. She'd gone to work, and she never came back. She left Harlem with a broken heart that just kept beating, and a head full of confusion and questions.

Harlem was different from the other kids; the room would freeze over when she was mad, something she was used to by now. When she stood still, she could go undetected in shadows, by even the keenest eye, something she found out in her first foster home, when the woman was looking for someone to take all her drunken anger out on and came into her room late at night with a broken beer bottle in her hand. Harlem could mold the earth matter into hard, black rock in the shape of pointed spikes, sharp enough to drag through someones core. She could talk to the dead, anyone she wanted, whenever she wanted.

She asked her mom how she could do all this once, but all she got as a response was a, "Not today", and a soft smile.

"Hi, mom."


End file.
